


A Bird Singing in the Dark

by TheCarrot



Series: There's Four of Them [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Torture, Brother's Universe, But I tried to keep it chill, FN-2187 to Finn, Finn rescues Poe, M/M, Oscar Issac characters, Poe Santiago Llewyn and Nathan are all brothers in this universe, mentions of torture, quadruplets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29851422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCarrot/pseuds/TheCarrot
Summary: Poe’s second thought after he wakes up is that, if he survives this; his brothers are never going to forgive him for getting captured.HIs first thought being a solid string of ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!’
Relationships: Poe Dameron & Finn, Poe Dameron & Santiago Garcia, Poe Dameron/Finn
Series: There's Four of Them [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194683
Comments: 23
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mssrj_335](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/gifts).



> Born from a fun thought that Poe Dameron from Star Wars, Santiago Garcia from Triple Frontier, Nathan Bateman from Ex-Machina and Llewyn Davis, from Inside Llewyn Davis, would be some sort of shit-show if they were all related! SO I MADE THEM QUADRUPLETS! 
> 
> So with wonderful prompting from Mssr! I finally put my ass in gear and finished the first bit! XD 
> 
> This series has gotten really, really long in my folder though.... and seeing Triple Frontier really helps because the first few are really all those two universes?
> 
> Future Poe/Finn, Will/Santi in later fics...
> 
> ON THAT NOTE! PLEASE ENJOY!

Poe’s second thought after he wakes up is that, if he survives this; his brothers are never going to forgive him for getting captured. 

HIs first thought being a solid string of ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!’

The cell is cold. Dank and dark around him and have long since sapped any warmth from Poe’s body. Iron bars an unwelcoming sight that had made dread slip down his spine. His third thought came as the cell door swung open and leering soldiers entered with bloodlust in their eyes. A thought that stuck with him for an uncounted number of days...

Is that his mission was a classified Top Secret. A solo job. Get In and get out. No back-up… and that means that no ones coming for him.

Not Leia.

Not Snap. 

Not Jess.

And definitely not his brothers.

Gritty sand sticks to the blood on his face and Poe starts to let his mind run in rampant circles in an attempt to keep what is left of his wits. Wonders with his hundredth thought, if he’s ever had a fever dream before now. Frankly, he wishes he could skip this experience altogether. But Poe can’t fight the weight of his eyelids, so caked in blood as they are, coated in a way that makes his lashes stick together as he tries to keep himself from falling asleep.

He dozes off, yet finds no rest. The pain in his body has not faded in longer than he can remember, and images pass by the darkness behind his eyelids. Familiar places and kind voices. His Papa in the kitchen telling him stern words, loving and kind all the same. The faint echo of his Mama in the orchard, half-remembered from so long ago as she tells Poe and his brothers about how their Papa passed out the day the doctor found four little heart beats where only one should have been. In his mind Poe’s brothers call out for him; Santiago ordering him to stay awake. Nathan glaring down at him and telling him that he doesn’t dare die here like a wuss. Whatever vision he thinks he has of Llewyn is lost. Just faint, comforting, humming that does more for his state of mind than he cares to admit.

Brown eyes force themselves open, to the darkness of the cell around him and Poe curses the disorientation. Hates how hard it is to steady his thoughts through the ache. Poe’s head pounds, vision swimming in sickening waves that make him want to throw up. It’s not the worst concussion he’s ever had... but it’s far from the lightest either. 

The spot for his worst solely belongs to the time when his youngest brother happened to be taking an interest in baseball and Poe had been the one dragged into helping Llewyn practice. 

But Poe had made a point to check before he left. Nathan is still at his home. Llewyn is in New York at a bar Poe doesn’t know, safe and sound if not happy. Santiago is— well, gods know where their oldest brother ever really is to be honest. But Poe knows Santiago is less safe and less sound than they all hope for. Just as surely as he knows his older brother isn’t anywhere remotely close to him. Doubts that even Nathan could find him in the middle of this sense-forsaken place. 

Which is a shame, Poe thinks morosely. He really would have liked to have seen his brothers one last time before he died in this hell-scape. 

Poe’s heart lurches, sure his eyes would be stinging if there was enough water left in his body to cry with. He’d give anything to hear the brats depressive singing right about now. Would give anything to hear Nathan complain about him touching things in the lab that he shouldn’t be …because then that would mean that he’s been _found_.

That rescue is here and Poe might yet survive this torture.

He shakes himself and lets the pain chase away the lingering want. One thing Poe does know is that if he does somehow, some way, survive this; he is never fucking going camping again. 

Poe digresses as he breathes out a mix of blood and dirt from his mouth. Dry cracked lips split and ooze as he pulls his mouth into a frown at the sight of the bright red on the floor before him. He knows that isn’t good. Can hear Santiago in his head telling him he shouldn’t be moving. But Poe just grits his teeth and keeps trying to push himself into a sitting position. His ribs ache, not so gently reminding him that one or more have been broken beneath boots; and his back screams in agony as his arms tremble with weakness. Hot red lines of pain bloom along his nerves where the bamboo whip has bit into his skin without mercy and Poe can already feel the flush of infection setting in. Wonders if that is responsible for the thoughts of his family he normally never lets himself linger on during a mission. 

‘But the missions over,’ Poe’s brain supplies with a sneer. ‘You failed. You failed the General. You failed your father. You failed your brothers.’ He shakes his head clear of the thoughts and almost gags when his head protests the movement. 

Time slips away from him again and truly, Poe forgets how long he’s been trapped here. Here in the middle of nowhere with no help coming for him and no part of his plane left to even attempt an escape even if he could get free. The white sleeved soldiers who had shot him down had seen to that and Poe can still envision the explosion of his precious stealth jet behind his eyelids when the guards give him the chance to close them at all. 

Fucking First Order, Poe curses silently, gritting his bloodied teeth as he finally manages to push himself into a semi-sitting position. If he has to lean against the wall a bit more than he would have hoped, that’s between him and the rat staring at him from across the cell’s dirt floor. No doubt waiting to feast on his corpse the moment he finally dies. 

He absently wonders if eating a rat raw would kill him faster or slower… wonders if he cares.

“F-uck.” Poe manages a half broken sob as his body gives out. Sliding back down the wall the pilot doesn’t even get another sound out before his damaged and delirious brain is sinking him into unconsciousness. Images flash before him of his family trapped in the darkness here with him… silent but present. A last bit of comfort he hopes. 

Because fuck… does Poe want his brothers here… 

He just wants this to be over.

—

Between the rusty iron bars of the cell before him, FN-2187 peers into the small room and at the man lying prone on the floor. He tries not to stare but can’t look away from how the prisoner is shivering, face sallow and ashen, a flush starting high on the man's cheeks even as he twitches in the mock sleep he’s finally getting. 

‘More like fever induced stupor.’ FN-2187 thinks to himself, turning his back to the cell just as GH-0137 enters the hallway, doing her patrol with sharp dark eyes and matted brown hair. They don’t look at each other, they know better than that by now. They may share a bunk in the compound, but that does not make them close.

It does not make them friends. 

It makes them stuck in the same shitty situation with no way out.

For now. 

FN-2187 waits until GH-0137 clears the hallway and then turns slowly back to the pilot his team had captured out in the sands. A lucky shot had taken down the man’s plane and 2187 still remembers the way the man had fought them off with nothing but a sawback blade and a desperation he’s only seen in wild animals. 

He had watched silently as his fellow soldiers finally brought the pilot down, and FN-2187 had hoped they would just put the man out of his misery and move on. Their General on the other hand had ordered their newest prisoner brought back to base with a terrible sneer and 2187 could only watch with a shiver going down his spine. 

Now, a plan forms in his mind and it sends a shiver down FN-2187’s spine for a completely different reason. A plan… or perhaps nothing so robust. A desire to escape perhaps? Whatever 2187 thinks to call it, in not so many words, it is treason. Pure and simple. Treason and betrayal against everything he’s ever known and was raised to fight for and fear lances through his chest, showing in the endless depths of his dark eyes. Thankfully there’s no one around to see it.

Fear alone could be enough to send him for re-training.

He’s got a bad idea, 2187 does. 

He only has ten minutes until the next patrol, and then after that… a half hour until shift change. He licks at his lips, fear sweat salty on his tongue as he plans step after step in his head. As he traces the routes of his fellow soldiers behind his eyes that do nothing but stare down at the bodily-broken man again. Dark hair is pressed to the prisoners head in clumps of sweat and blood, and FN-2187 feels the same curl of wrongness tighten in his chest that he did that morning several weeks ago. Back when they first brought the prisoner in. When his screams still had the strength to ring out through the hallway. And for the first time since he was a child and was having that reaction beat out of him by his superior. FN-2187 found himself flinching. 

He would never wish what this man has endured on any other human being. Not even on someone who is the First Orders supposed enemy. And while the others in the compound he’s stationed in seem to have no problem in hurting the man, FN-2187 can only recoil in disgust at how his fellow soldiers are acting with their very first prisoner.

Fears how they would react should they get their hands on more.

However, for as much fear that he feels, as much as the adrenaline pumping through his veins makes his heartbeat echo in his ears. FN-2187 feels steady to his core. This is the right thing to do. His hand doesn’t shake on the grip of his rifle and his feet stay firm on the floor. Nervous ticks worn well away with time and training yet FN-2187 can’t help biting the inside of his cheek raw. It gives him something to focus on, to keep the twitch of his lip tamped down as the second guard, TK-603, finally sweeps by, his pale skin wrinkled and weathered by age and experience. 

The man is the oldest that FN-2187 knows of within the First Order. And 2187 always figured that one day he would be just like TK-603. Following the orders of monsters with higher ranks than himself. FN-2187 had never even thought escape of the First Order possible. Not until dark curls bounced into his view. When burning brown eyes dared to glare at General Hux with every out of hatred none of the soldiers were allowed to feel. 

Then FN-2187 saw a future for himself that didn’t look like 603’s.

So he waits, a minute, two, three, after TK-603 passes by him and the hall is silent. FN-2187’s hand shakes as he takes the key from his pocket and opens the padlock. 

—

Poe does not know what is going on. He was in the middle of a fever-dream where Nathan and Llewyn were dressed as chickens and singing a song about hamsters… only to be jerked awake by a strong hand. 

Fear washes the delirium away in a heart-beat, and Poe scrambles. Tries his best to make it as hard as possible for the guard to get a grip on him. It’s a little more than futile however, days without food and rest; hours filled with pain and questions have left him weaker than he’s ever been in his entire life. 

“Hey, hey, Shhh!!” The guard’s voice is strangely gentle. Quiet. Almost as if he’s aiming at calming him and the difference is enough of a shock that Poe freezes.

Makes the pilot blink hazy, blood-shot eyes up at the guard. The soldier's face is nothing but a blur for a moment, until Poe’s vision settles and- it’s him. The man… the man… Poe knows that face. “Y-you…” his voice cracks painfully in his throat and Poe watches as the familiar guard frowns before reaching towards his back for the canteen all the guards have clipped to their belts. 

“Here, drink some of this,” FN-2187 mutters quietly trying to keep the noise down. There may be no one around, but he doesn’t believe in luck enough to get through this without running into some sort of trouble. “We need to keep quiet okay? I’m getting you out of here.” 

Shock must have set in, Poe thinks as the guard helps him take careful measured sips, one broad hand helping Poe keep his head up while the other tips the canteen. Must definitely be the shock because he could have sworn he heard the words. 

“This is a rescue.” FN-2187 states firmly, catching uncoordinated brown eyes with his own and nodding. “This is a rescue, we need to get you out of here.”

Holy fucking shit, Poe thinks. What the fuck… is he dead?

FN-2187 shifts his grip on Poe’s shoulders, attempting to avoid the worst of the cuts on Poe’s back, even as the pilot clings onto him with the few unbroken fingers he has on each hand, and lifts him to his feet.

“A-are y’u underc`ver?” Poe finally manages to ask as they step out into the hallway. It’s almost blinding; the most light he’s seen in a while and Poe tries and fails not to flinch back from it. Only hears his rescuer mutter and curse in response before tugging Poe further into his side. Using his own body to block the light as he tugs the pilot along.

Poe cracks an eye back open when bade too, the light not as bright as they start to move away from the cell, and Poe finally registers why the man's face is so familiar to him. Dark fathomless eyes, kind yet sorrowful that lean through the cell bars to sneak him water. In ordering the other soldiers away just as Poe was about to break and beg for death. 

This isn’t the first time this particular soldier has saved him, Poe realizes. That dark rugged face becoming a constant over the uncounted days Poe has had the pleasure to be trapped in his cell. And here they are again, with this… not very evil, First Order soldier helping Poe escape.

Damn Poe wishes Santiago was here to see this. His brother is not going to believe this.

—

Going is slow. Too slow for FN-2187 to be comfortable with, but every time he glances over to the man he’s supporting with one arm, his other still firmly wrapped around his weapon, 2187 can’t help but cut off any complaint.

The pilot looks worse for wear now than he did in the cell and FN-2187 almost regrets moving him. Almost. He knows what fate awaited Poe in the early light of dawn tomorrow and 2187 couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t sit by and do nothing. Not anymore.

He keeps them to where he knows the faulty cameras are. To the areas without any surveillance at all, and later than FN-2187 wanted but sooner than he expected, he’s able to help Poe slide down to sit on the ground. Leans the pilot turned prisoner against a crate of supplies just outside the building the First Order is using as a warehouse.

“Can you fly?” 2187 asks as he helps the other man take another few sips from the canteen. He almost wishes he had thought to bring food to feed him, but FN-2187 doesn’t know if he’d be trusted enough for it to be accepted. He is after all using a plan for escape that he only made twenty minutes ago, with said plan banking on the prisoner being much more aware than he looks at the moment.

“I can fly anything.” Poe shoots back stubbornly. A reflex more than anything, one he regrets when his ribs and everything around them start screaming at him that, ‘No, he can’t fly right now’. For in truthfulness, Poe’s lucky he’s not passing out on this kid where he’s sitting. Tells FN-2187 that. “But not in this condition.” 

He watches dark brown eyes narrow and Poe... Poe doesn’t know if he can blame the concussion or the fever for the way he thinks how it makes the other man look even more beautiful. ‘Oh yeah, I need a doctor.’ Poe thinks. 

2187 curses to himself, curses his stupid idea of relying on an enemy of the First Order for a hope of escape. Tries to come up with another plan. Anything else, but his panic is ground to a screeching halt when the prisoner continues.

“But-” Poe’s speaking before he can really think it through and across from him those eyes fly back to his and nope- it’s not just the concussion, Poe realizes. The guards' eyes are actually that gorgeous. Poe smirks and does his best not to wince as he puts a hand on his rescuers shoulder. It’s firm and warm under his own cold and broken palm and Poe bites back a shiver. “If you can get me to’a plane, I can walk you through it.”

Heat blooms through 2187’s chest, spreads outwards and makes his fingers tingle even as his heart pounds in his ears. “I-I’ve... never flown before...” He admits, voice breathless and quiet. “I can’t even drive...” 

Poe shakes his head with a manic grin. Blood in his teeth and in the back of his throat, but with a spark of something growing behind his ribs that has nothing to do with pain. 

2187 doesn’t want to call the feeling flaring to life inside him with that smile, hope... but has no other name for it. 

“Buddy, trust me...” Poe laughs. “We’re gonna do this.”

“We’re gonna do this?”

“Oh yeah.”

\--

The plane is not large by any means and Poe dismays the moment he sees it. Helpless laughter follows a second later. “Mother-fucking fuck! Are you shitting me?” 

The younger man currently holding him up whips around to check their surroundings before turning to glare at his prisoner. “Say it a bit louder, I don’t think the guards heard us.”

“Sor’y,” Poe mumbles, patting 2187 on the shoulder absentmindedly, looking over the silver plane in front of him with a sense of despair he hadn’t felt in the cell. It’s a Zenith... a CH701 if Poe’s addled brain isn’t lying to him... which normally wouldn’t be a terrible thing. But Poe looks down at the pontoons where the wheels should be and wonders who in their ever-loving-sweet-mother-of-fucking-fucks would bring a water plane to the middle of a desert compound. “Right... are we near water?”

“No. The closest river is about twenty klicks away.” 

Right. Great. “Okay... that’s unhelpful... let's do this...” Poe goes to move towards the plane door but pauses. Turns his head to look at the younger man he’s currently draped onto to stay upright. Jesus... the poor kid had been putting his hopes for escape in Poe and Poe hadn’t even bothered to learn the kid’s name. “What’do they call you anywa’s?”

“2187.” The man replies slowly, pulling Poe towards the plane carefully. “FN-2187.” 

Poe pulls a face he’s sure his brothers would love to see. “I’m—what?”

“It’s the only thing they ever called us.” The man explains matter of factly. Like it’s normal. “Our numbers.”

He has so many questions... but Poe knows they’ll have to wait until later, when they’re safe. If they manage to ever get to safety. “Well fuck that noise.” he grunts as they make it next to the cockpit door. “Letters and fuckin’ numbers, Jesus Christ… FN huh? FN… I’m gonna call you Finn, that sound a’right?”

Dark eyes land on the broken and bleeding pilot in surprise just as he gets the door to the plane pried open. Did the prisoner just give a name? Repeats it. “Finn?” It feels strange on his tongue, but in a good way. In a way 2187 thinks he could get used to. Smiles widely. “Yeah, Finn. I like it.”

The smile Poe gives the younger man then hurts every part of his face. But there’s no way he wouldn’t be able to smile back at FN- at Finn. “Nice to meet ya buddy. I’m Poe. Poe Dameron.”

It’s a half mad scramble then, actually climbing into the plane without being noticed. 2187 shaking with excitement and glee and Poe shaking with blood loss and concussion. They manage it, slowly and haphazardly, but finally they get situated in the half torn dusty seats of the old plane. 

“Okay, okay, stay calm, stay calm...” FN- no, Finn mutters to himself looking over the dashboard in front of him and all of the buttons on it. Slides his gun to the floor and starts looking for anything that looks like it’s labeled as a power button.

Poe lilts a little in his seat when he turns to look at the handsome man next to him. He's firmly told himself to stop referring to Finn as a kid. For his sanity. Also to stop the ‘beautiful’ thing too. Neither are working, his brain tells him. “I am calm?” 

And he is. Despite everything. Despite how Poe feels and their plane and the entire situation. This is the least cared Poe’s been in a long while; because if he happens to die in a plane at least it will be a more natural way for him to go.

Finn turns wide nervous eyes to him. “I was talking to myself.” 

Well, damn, Poe thinks. “Good vote a`confidence buddy. `Kay, see that button there?”

Dark eyes glance down and Finn hovers a finger over the small button Poe is pointing at. “This one?”

“Yeah, don’t hit that one whatever you do.” Poe muses, watching as Finn snaps his hand back like he’d just touched an open flame. He can’t help the chuckle despite how it makes black spots dance in front of his eyes. 

“Okay, we aren’t going to have much time once we get this thing going, she’s noisy, but she’s fast.” So long as the sand doesn’t completely stop the pontoons from sliding, he adds in his head. 

Water plane in the jungle. Poe’s sure somewhere in the world Frankie Morales is laughing himself sick at Poe’s luck.

—

By some weird twist of fate, they take off without a hitch.

Without a doubt, the very last bit of Poe’s ever present luck seems to hold out. Finn follows every one of his directions to the tee and they hit open air with the barest skim of tree tops. Wide dark eyes turn to the exhausted pilot, his smile half panicked, half beaming as he stares towards Poe. Grin wildly free and exuberant. Happy. It makes Poe’s chest tighten in a dangerous way. 

“Good job buddy.” Poe slurs with a faint smile of his own. Kills the outside lights with some of the last of his energy and they disappear into the dark sky just as flood lights start to flip on around the base below. 

The radio in the aircraft is long since outdated and Poe just hopes and prays to whatever deity that looks after wayward pilots and stalwart traitors that the wires aren’t completely rusted through. 

It’s a short burst transmission; jagged codewords on long unused frequencies that he hopes to hell Karé or Pava or even General Organa still remember to look for. Hopes that the universe is listening and prays that his message gets through to their receivers back at base. 

After that, Poe promptly points Finn in the direction the stars tell him is the way home. “Just keep goin’ that way… and we’ll be able to land `fore long.” He manages to mutter. “Imma pass out now.” 

Trades grins with Finn and can no longer fight the drag of his body into the sweet clutches of exhaustion.

—

Finn scrubs at his face when the other man’s eyes slip closed. The plane around him creaks and the propellers make a droning so loud his ears hurt even beyond the cracked vinyl of the headphones. It jitters and groans and feverishly Finn wishes that Poe were awake enough to reassure him that the sounds were normal. 

But a short glance at the prisoner- at the pilot… at Poe, and Finn redacts his thoughts. There’s a shine of sweat on the man's dirt lined forehead, dark circles hidden under the bruises around his eyes. Dried blood cake his lips like the worst looking frostbite. 

No, Finn doesn’t want to wake him for anything short of an emergency right now. Poe needs rest. Water, food and medicine will have to wait until they land. Which, hopefully won’t be too much longer. For his first foray into steering anything with an engine Finn thinks he’s doing pretty well. 

Which is, of course, when the plane shudders. 

And it’s not just a small shudder either. 

Finn winces as the plane dips and he fights with the control stick. Pushes it forward in an attempt to go back up, but the nose turns down and the ex-First order soldier shouts in fear. He yanks it back, and the craft creaks dangerously. For a moment of exhilarated terror, Finn is sure he’s gone and crashed them. 

Counts himself and Poe as good as dead, but then the plane evens out, and Finn lets go of the stick altogether. Brings up every word of instruction Poe had given him before passing out and puts them to use. 

Finn sighs in relief when they start leveling out. Gets his breath under control and then--

Nothing.

There’s no trace of sound in the cockpit. 

At all. 

He removes one side of the headphones and sure enough. There’s still nothing but silence. Dead air fills the cabin and Finn slowly turns to look out the dirty window next to him.

The propellers whirl slowly as they twirl to a stop.

The plane lurches one last time and Finn shouts as they turn into a sudden dive.


	2. Chapter 2

Finn’s surprised to open his eyes. Gasps in a lungful of smoke when he tries to breathe. The burning air makes coughs rack his own now aching bones relentlessly as he reaches for the knife on his belt. Cuts himself free of the seat belts and barely manages to catch himself on the dash as he starts sliding out of his seat.

He has no idea how he survived. Isn’t sure how long he was unconscious for or even where they are. Gropes blindly for the gun he left at his feet even as the warm wet feeling of blood drips down into his eyes, obscuring his vision until he wipes it away. The soldier tosses his gun out ahead of him, following after it, shimmying on his elbows and knees to avoid the jagged metal and glass. It’s still dark beyond the small fire that their downed plane has caused, and Finn struggles for fresh air. Takes quick stock of himself as he fights to get his legs under him. 

Cuts. Bruises. Maybe a few sprains. Nothing that will keep him from reporting for duty. Nothing that would have, Finn corrects. Scrambles as soon as he’s clear and races towards the other side of the plane. “POE! POE!”

The other door is already lost somewhere behind them leaving the pilot slumped over in his seat. However beyond the already serious extent of his previous injuries, Finn can’t tell if Poe’s hurt any worse than he already was. Getting him out of the wreckage is difficult but Finn fights through his own pounding headache and with one final heave, pulls Poe clear of the plane. Finn lets himself slip backwards in relief. Falls to the ground on his back and hauls Poe bodily with him. 

Lays there panting heavily with his prisoner limp across his chest, until Finn gathers the courage to press shaking fingers to the bruised neck attached to the man atop him. Feels Poe’s pulse; thready beneath the pads of his fingertips, but distinctly there.

Thank the gods. They’re both still alive.

—

The sky neither darkens nor lightens as Finn collects the already flaming parts of the plane to build a fire from. Stays the deepest part of the night as he helps the barely conscious Poe get settled on the rolled up jacket of Finn’s uniform. Finn’s still unsure how much time has passed since their landing— since their crash. Something that Poe spends what little bit of energy he has, to laugh about.

“S’not a proper pl’ne anyways…” The pilot slurs. “Was n’ver gonna work...jungle...water…”

Finn frowns in confusion, but thinking Poe is asking for water, grabs his canteen and helps the other other man take measured sips from it. He knows they’ll have to ration what they have until they can find another source… or in the more unlikely case, are rescued. Wonders how long it will take for Poe’s fever to dehydrate him to worrisome levels.

“Guess the radio didn’t make it?” Poe asks when Finn pulls the canteen away. His throat feels a little more unstuck, but the trees he can make out around them swirl sickenly. 

Finn glances over at the crushed metal. All that remains of the plane is the cockpit they had been in. Thank the stars. Shakes his head to the negative and winces when the motion pulls on the new cut above his eye and the concussion Finn’s pretty sure he has. “Nothing made it. Except us.”

Poe grimaces, feels exhaustion tug at him. Every part of him hurts worse now and he wonders when the jungle night got so hot. “S’ok… comm got out... just gotta wait. S’all good Finn, don’worry...you’ll see. F-inn.”

Dark eyes watch as the pilot goes still. Carefully presses two fingers to the pulse at Poe’s neck. Thready and weak under dirt and dried blood. But there. And Finn sighs heavily in relief.

“Don’t worry.” Finn repeats under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. He just hopes that it’s Poe’s people who come for them, and not the First Order. “Yeah, sure. Easy.”

\--

Finn circles their impromptu landing site a few times in search of a water source once he lets Poe drain the rest of his canteen. He’s careful as he goes, not daring to let the glow of the fire leave his sight in his attempt to make sure Poe isn’t left unattended for too long. Wonders on the pilot's condition while he stands in the middle of dark woods with his gun held aloft. Ready for everything, but expecting nothing. 

There’s nothing for kilometres; no animals, no First Order soldiers, no rescue… but more importantly, no water.

Finn keeps his eyes peeled through the dark for a creak, for any sign of a river, yet finds none. He worries, because the harsh signs of fever that had started in Poe while they were in the cell have only gotten worse since they’ve been on the ground. 

Poe shivers no matter how much wood Finn throws on the fire. No matter which layer Finn sheds and drapes over him. Vaguely FN- no, Finn. He had to remind himself constantly. 

Finn wonders if he is going to lose the man he gave up everything to save anyways. Lose him to the tight clutches of fever and infection before whatever help Poe radioed for, arrives. 

He’s broken from his reverie in the next second. The sound of something breaking, a twig or a root, Finn’s not sure, but he kneels down, gun ready in an instant and shouts out to the darkness. Begs the universe that they’re not surrounded, for he’s already left Poe alone for too long. Time an enemy could use to get their hands on the defenseless pilot. “SHOW YOURSELF!”

Finn knows he’s given away his position by yelling. But if it aids in drawing them away from Poe, if it lets the pilot live but a second longer— than Finn is okay with that. Poe has given a name to a number, has given him freedom … the least Finn can do is give him a few more seconds of life.

Even if those seconds are filled with pain and fever. Perhaps they will be enough for Poe’s aid to arrive for him.

The snap sounds again. Yet this time it sounds purposeful, and Finn trains his gun into the darkness before him. 

Poe walks out the forest, upright and moving, clad in black, M-5 held aloft and Finn freezes. Silence settles between them, and Finn immediately knows that he’s at the disadvantage. Can feel the numerous other guns suddenly trained on him through the night. 

Finn grits his teeth and steadies himself. This man can not be Poe. Not broken, bloodied Poe who looked at him with so much hope when FN-2187 said he was here to rescue him. The unnamed emotion shining in his eyes when Finn actually did so. 

This Poe is something else entirely. The man’s body screams with the readiness to leap to action. His dark eyes are shadowed and dangerous and Finn suddenly finds himself praying that if he should die here, that this man will leave Poe alive. 

For a man would never kill his double after all, right?

“Who are you?” The other Poe asks quietly. He even sounds like his pilot. 

“You first?” Finn counters. Readies his gun and lets silence fall between them once more. It’s broken not a moment later by a shout from behind them and the words make Finn’s blood run cold. 

The Poe across from him doesn’t flinch; but there's a split second of relief crossing his face. And it’s not much. A mere scant second. Yet it’s enough of a pause for Finn. Gives him the time to throw himself sideways, ducking behind a tree, and before the other soldier has time to fire, Finn makes a break back towards their crash site. Every muscle in his body strains as he makes a desperate dash back to where he has left Poe. His kind, strong, broken one. Not this strange doppelganger in the woods. Finn doesn’t spare the time to wonder if maybe he hadn’t hit his head harder than he thought on impact at seeing the double. 

Finn breaks the cover of the tree line to see several black clad soldiers spread out through the small clearing. But there’s only one that makes his heart stop in fear. There, with hands pressing to the side of Poe’s neck, an older woman with greying brown hair, leans directly over the semi-conscious pilot. His pilot. The one Finn knows and the one he rescued. Not the soldier with Poe’s face who exits the forest a second behind him. Finn can feel the mans gun trained his back even as he keeps his own glued to the female soldier kneeling next to his pilot with a concerned look on her face. 

“He’s alive sir.” She says to the man behind Finn. “Barely.” 

“Move away from him.” Finn orders, daring a step towards her, his endless eyes brooking no room for argument. Wonders if this is the help that Poe called for? Couldn’t be. To arrive so quickly? No leader cares about one underling to this degree.

No one breathes.

Finn curls his finger around the trigger a little tighter and steps another scant inch forward. Poe’s eyes are cracked open; glassy and distant as they attempt to look around. “I said move away from him!” he orders again, voice firm and doing his best to channel his inner Captain Phasma.

“What business do you have with this man?” The Poe look-alike growls behind him, suddenly a lot closer than he was before. Leaves just enough distance between himself and Finn that Finn can’t turn and disarm him. Two more soldiers come up on Finn’s side just as the female soldier bends over Poe to reach for her pack. 

“STOP!” Finn shouts.

“Please, I’m a doctor.” The woman replies, hands held out protectively over Poe’s prone body and a kit held there. It bears a white cross and Finn frowns at it, not knowing it’s meaning. He knows the word ‘doctor’ however, nothing he and his unit were ever afforded. 

Finn marvels at the thought of a doctor being there. Something Poe so desperately needs. Is it possible… these _are_ Poe’s people. “Y-you’re here to help?” he hesitates.

The look-alike behind him takes advantage of Finn’s distraction and the ex-First Order soldier finds himself face down on the ground in a split second. Dazed and winded and so, so surprised that it wasn’t a bullet in his back instead of the knee that’s pressing there now. Finn’s gun goes flying away from him and he reaches desperate fingers towards it. Is stopped dead by the press of a cold steel barrel against the back of his neck.

“SANTIAGO! Stop!” The doctor shouts, almost angry and at a volume that makes Finn wince. This is it, he thinks. This is how he’s going to meet his end. Hard won freedom brought to a swift and bitter close. He risks one last glance upwards, and like a magnet, meet’s Poe’s fever bright gaze through the firelight. 

Sees Poe’s hand desperately flailing out over dirt towards him even as the doctor tries to hold the pilot still. Yet for as weak as he is, for all the energy it must cost Poe to try and reach for him, it’s Finn who can not get his body to respond in kind. Poe’s dry cracked lips move in broken gasps, calling for the man who saved him.

“F-Fi-nn? P-le-se...”

Then, just as quickly as he was taken down, the gun disappears from Finn’s neck. The knee lifts in the next second and air rushes back into Finn’s lungs with a whoosh. Leaves his chest aching and burning as he coughs in an attempt to take a breath. The look alike leaves Finn on the ground and drops down next to the restless Poe. From his vantage, Finn can start to pick out the minute differences between the man he rescued and the one who threatened him. 

They’re small. But they’re there.

“Poe? Poe? Hey you still with me?” The stranger's voice is rough, deeper than Poe’s and full of concern as he sets his gun down to help Poe sit up. 

“F-F`nn?” The pilot on the ground whimpers, some broken semblance of Finn’s name escaping his lips once more. His feverish mind not even registering the newcomers' words. Instead Poe struggles against his double’s hold, trying to pull himself towards his downed rescuer.

Finn pushes himself up onto his elbows. Makes to get to his feet, needs to get back to Poe’s side, only for something hard to collide with the back of his skull. Bright light flashes before his eyes and the entire world tilts sideways as Finn’s forced back to the ground. His body thumps heavily as indistinct orders shout above him. 

“F-nn! NO!”

Through the pain in his skull, Finn hears Poe’s shout, sharp and distinct. Poe had to see him fall. That must be the reason the pilot is trying to sit up, fighting against the hands trying to hold him back. Poe’s screams of terror, the broken pieces of Finn’s name, are louder than anything the pilot let out in the cell. Finn desperately wants to go to him. Fingers clawing into the dirt even as his vision fades in and out. Has to help Poe, can’t let him go, not after everything--

But before Finn can move an inch, a hand yanks him up. The vertigo, the rush of pain he has been trying to keep tamped down-- it’s too much. Finn’s vision goes black at the edges and the last thing he sees is Poe slumping unconscious, in the arms of his double who holds him close as he shouts across the clearing. 

“FISH! GET THE HELO HERE NOW!”

—

If there’s a helicopter ride between when Finn is knocked unconscious and when he wakes up; he doesn’t remember it. Waking is slow as he picks his way to consciousness. Head pounding and every muscle in his body aching like he’s just gone through first stage training all over again. 

There’s a strange steady beep to his right, and Finn keeps himself as still as possible as he tries to take stock of his surroundings. The sound echoes weirdly wherever he is, a room he guesses. But not a prison. He’s not strapped down to anything. In fact, the only source of pain he’s not familiar with is a small pinprick in his arm. Muffled words float to him from somewhere in the distance and the low hum of machinery threatens to lull Finn back to blissful dark. Yet the strangeness of the soft thing he’s laying on and the unfamiliar surrounding do not allow his nerves to rest. 

Nothing around him is anything Finn recognizes and part of him wonders if he’s just not dreaming. If he wont wake in the next second to FN-2199 yelling at him to get to his next shift--

No. No, that’s not right, Finn realizes slowly. He’s not…he’s not in the barracks, is he? Finn slips his eyes open a crack to check. The lights overhead are dim, but his eyes still water with the brightness. When they finally adjust, a ceiling comes into view and Finn knows immediately that he’s not where he’s supposed to be. 

Yet any burgeoning panic is cut waylaid with panic of a different kind when he remembers- 

_Poe._

Shit. Where’s- Finn makes to sit up but the ache in his body turns to an inferno racing across his bones and he falls back onto the bed with a half broken sound escaping his throat. Mentally curses himself for his volume and weakness. SOmething he has been trained to never show if he could still breathe and hold a gun.

So, Finn does his best to turn the noise into Poe’s name. Tries to call out to the other man. Needs to know where his pilot is. Needs to know if Poe’s safe-- Finn stops himself in the next moment however. When his head slips sideways on his pillow and there… 

There he is. 

Relief swells through Finn in a way he’s never felt before. In a way that makes him think there might actually be something in the world worth calling happiness. 

Poe looks awful. Face paler than even last Finn saw it. Sweat clinging to what little skin is left around the mask over his mouth, large tubes connect Poe to several machines that surround the pilot's hospital bed. But it’s the bandages covering Poe’is arms that lay on the stark white linens, the scent of cleaner and disinfectant strong in the air, which truly set Finn at ease.

They’re in a hospital. They made it.

The thought hits Finn like General Hux on a rampage. Steals the breath from his lungs and sets him flat out where he lays, muscles weak with relief. They’ve made it to fucking hospital and Poe is still alive. 

Joy buoys Finn until the inescapable feeling of eyes on him make the soldier look a little further around the room. And there, between Finn’s bed and Poe's, is the other Poe.

But it’s not Poe. 

Not a clone.

Not even a doppelganger...no. Now that the panic and pain he felt in the forest is gone, Finn knows who this man is to Poe. How, despite his looks; he is not Finn’s pilot. This man’s hair is already starting to grey, curly even as shorn short as it is and a five o’clock shadow darking his cheeks. Yet it’s the darkness, the pain that follows a growing familiarity of death and suffering that sits in this man's eyes that truly makes him different from the one Finn pulled out of the clutches of the First Order. 

“You’re awake.” The man says, getting slowly to his feet. 

“Twins?” Finn hisses, chest aching as he asks. He’s met a set of twins before. DC-0074 and DC-0075. Chides himself for not realizing that back in the forest.

“Sort of, we’re quadruplets.” The man muses, sees Finn’s confusion and shakes his head. “That means there are four of us, not just Poe and me. You can call me Santiago... but really, don’t worry about it.” Poe’s double, no, Santiago grins then. “The doctors have you all set up, so just lay back and relax. You two need rest.”

Finn shakes his head, tries to sit up, but the crash must have hurt him more than he thought because his muscles scream in protest, his back flaring in agony. Poe was the one more hurt though, he needs the resources more. Tries to get Santiago to see that as he fights a losing battle with the weight of his own body. “I got him out. H-he needs the help more.”

“Hey hey, there’s plenty of resources here okay, you’re both getting treated.” Santiago mutters, moving ever closer to the younger man's bedside. Hands raised non-threateningly. He’s used to this; used to people sharing drugs and medications because of the cost and the lack of availability. “Everything’s going to be okay, you’re both safe now. We're going to treat both of you... you did good, kid.” 

Air gets stuck in his throat and the soldier can barely get his next words out. Needs to regardless. “Finn.” he states firmly.

Santiago raises an eyebrow as he finally moves to lean against the bed rails of the man who has brought his brother home. “Finn?”

“The pilot… Poe… he- he gave me a name.” Tears spring to the corner of his eyes and Finn can’t tell if it’s because of the pain or the weird weightless sensations suddenly flowing into him from his arm. “Finn.”

Santiago frowns, chest tearing into two for the young man before him whose eyes remind him so much of one Ben Miller. The man he all but ordered killed despite every sign that the young soldier had apparently risked life and limb to save his brother's life. Santiago’s fear for his family had made him completely unrelenting yesterday and he knows he’ll end up apologizing to Finn for it. Thinks he’ll understand though. “And what did you have before?” 

Gods, he owes the kid more than an apology.

“A designation.” Finn admits breathlessly. Doesn’t tell the Poe look-alike what it is. Desperately wishes to leave that part in the middle of the desert where it belongs. If he can. Wonder if this man will let him. Begs the universe once more, to answer his silent thoughts and let him have this.

“Alright,” Santiago nods easily enough and Finn gapes at the easy acceptance in the brother’s voice. Watches as the other solder grins and grabs the patient chart by the foot of the bed. Taking hold of the pen attached to it. Gods bless Harter Kalonia and her love of paper and pencil. “Alright, Finn. One ‘N’ or two?”

Finn shrugs, and sighs when the hurt feels clouded. “I dont’ know.” He answers honestly.

Dark brown eyes regard Finn for a moment, before Santiago looks down at the form in his hands. Would Poe pick one ‘n’ or two he wonders, and right where the header where it asks for the name, Santiago scrawls ‘FINN’ in his typical large block letters. Turns it to show the younger man when he’s done. “How’s that?”

Exhaustion pulls at Finn, blurs the words he can barely make out as Santiago holds the paper up for Finn to see his name. His name. Finn gapes at the word in nothing less than sheer disbelief. “I-I… wow.”

“Finn.” Santiago’s voice is firm and so reminiscent of his officers that it makes Finn turn to him and pay the last bit of attention he can afford. “I cannot thank you enough for what you did, Finn.” 

The younger man opens his mouth to object, he just did the right thing. A quick glance over to Poe in the other bed makes his stomach turn funnily, and not in a terrible way. “I-I didn't’ do anything.”

Santiago follows his eyes towards his brother and lets out a sigh that sounds like he’s got the weight of the world curled up inside of himself. “You saved him.” he whispers, hard brown eyes looking over the bruises littering Poe’s face, traces the machines hooked up to him. Knows what it looks like under the dressings too and just how much antibiotics Kalonia currently has pumping into his brother's body.

“He’s my younger brother.” Santiago’s voice sounds like a confession as he slides back towards Poe’s bedside. Picks up his brother's hand where it lays limp on the bed. Studies the wounds on his arms that trail under Poe’s bandaged chest, his back and legs and-- Santiago makes himself stop thinking about it. “He was born right after me....” 

There’s something in the man’s voice that makes Finn think that if he was allowed, Santiago would just as soon be out in the field hunting down the people that did this to Poe; rather than sitting between Poe and Finn’s bedside like he is. Knows the sight of a man following orders he doesn’t want too.

“I owe you everything.” Santiago sighs, exhaustion lacing his own voice then. Glances back at Finn although he doesn’t let go of Poe’s hand. “You saved my brother. So… I promise you whatever you need, Finn. Just name it. Anything. Anytime.”

There’s such promise in the man's voice, and all Finn can do is nod sleepily. Knows the promise of a soldier for what it is. More than the promise of Poe and his hope of being rescued. Far beyond a sure thing.

Finn is free now. And more than he ever expected in rescuing Poe, has put this man into his debt…

His brain stutters for a moment.

Free.

He’s free.

Finn lets his head slip sideways, away from Santiago and all the promises his voice entails. Leans towards the man on the bed opposite him and there’s a lump caught in Finn’s throat then. 

Words he can’t give life too but wants to. Belatedly feels a hand slip into his and the sensation is so far removed from everything he’s ever known that it makes Finn glance back to the still standing man. 

Santiago is smirking down at him. But it’s a soft thing. Understanding, as he holds up Finn’s hand and then Poe’s as well. Arms stretched between the beds like a small bridge. “Rest now, I’ve got him, okay? I’ve got him.” 

Finn makes a sound low in his throat and registers the weight of his body all at once. Feels himself start to sink into sleep the minute he stops fighting it.

“I got you both Finn.” Santiago whispers, squeezing Finn’s hand and Finn isn’t sure if it’s the fact that the man’s hand feels so much like Poe’s, despite the calluses in the wrong places, that makes Finn relax so much. But it might be. 

Different. But the same.

Finn holds onto the hand in his all the tighter as his eyelids begin to droop. Exhaustion hitting him out of nowhere at the feel of bare skin in his. Lets Santiago be the bridge in the space he can’t cover, and the last thing Finn sees as his body slowly drags him back to sleep—

Is the sight of dark brown eyes, so beautiful and kind, fluttering barely open in the bed beside his.

“Poe?” Finn’s voice cracks and across the room, Poe’s voice, as weak as it is, comes back.

“F-F`nn?”

“H-hey..." Tears wet Finn's voice, his eyes sliding closed as sleep overtakes him. "We made it buddy.”


End file.
